Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1887-08-05
TVO GHOSTS IN DONEGAL

TWO GHOSTS IN DONE(fAL.
In the beautiful district of Fannet on the
coast Of Donegal, near Lough Swilly-the
Lake Of Shadows-lived two poor families,
celebrated far and wide as the best neigh
bors ever known or heard Of If Martin
wanted a hand with his harvest Donnely
was ready to give it and ask no wages, and
the kindness was returned when the potato
digging came on. Their wives also lived
in the greatest harmony, and they were
such close neghbOrs that they met contin-
ually, for one roof covered the two houses.
This long cabin, or rather range Of cab
ns, stood on the banks Of Mulroy, an inlet
of the Atlantic, so land-l as TO look
like lake Behind lowered gigantic heath
er-crowned mountains in front lay the
high road leading from the sea to Milford,
the nearest market town, a winding road,
hard and white from limestone, now dip
ping down into IA valley, now mounting up
a sharp hill, and always keeping close to
the blue waters of Mulroy divided from it
by shelving bank festooned with wood
bine. Mulroy was studded with many
islands-islands sacred to the wee folks -
islands in possession of the sea birds is
lands where sleepy broad-browed seals
basked ON warm evenings. Beyond Mul-
roy rose more mountains, the nearer hills
cultivated to their SUBMITS, the more dis
tant 50 pale and indistinct that they were
like smoke cOlored phautoms against the
sky Errigal, IA coned-shaped mountain,
the last point of Irish earth seen by the
emigrants as they sailed to America, and
Muckish, the pigs back, were most prom-
nent in the range The Martins and Don
nellys did not know that they were looking
at one Of the loveliest landscapes in the
world. They thought Mulroy a wild, desc
late place.
Sometime the deep silence of the place
was broken by the keening Of mourners or
chant Of priests and then the children in
| the cabin would run out to the road, and
look up and down. A long procession
wound from the sea coast on its way to
| yonder battle-ground beneath the chapel at
the edge of the lake-a holy spot, marked
| by forest Of black wooden crosses. The
priests walked first then came the coffin,
| followed by a motley company-men in
| long gray stockings, knee breeches, and
brogues, mounted ON shaggy ponies, and
women seated behind them dressed in
| homespun and scarlet headgear. The keen
ing woke the mountain echoes, the fairy
| glen throwing back the sound to the flax
mill that stood, gaunt and grim, by the
roadside then the crying and chanting
died away and fiocks of curlew and plover
circling overhead sang a shrill requiem.
Two of the children were wont TO follow
the procession-Teague Martin and Mary
Donnelly. They were inseparable, toddling
hand in hand to school, hand in hand t.
chapel, playing together, herding the cows
together ON the knowes They would fol
low the procession as far as the flax mill
a mile from their own doors, and would
stay there to play The gossips of the
country remarked the tender friendship Of
the children and foretold that it would enc
in matrimony. The first separation ot
these little friends took place when they
were l3 years old, and league was hireC
by farmer. Mary mOped and fretteC
when he was gone, wandering sadly t,
the flax mill, their old play place, and theI
wandering back again with her head hang
ing down. But she found some consolation
in knitting his socks, washing his clothes
and carrying the little bundle to him on
Saturday at the farmhouse. Things di,
not turn out as the neighbors expected
The friends did not become lovers the,
remained devoted friends, but they mar
ried strangers. Years went by. The ol,
Martins and Donnellys were gathered Il
their fathers and Mary and her husban,
and league and his wife lived on in the oil,
cabins, thunder the roof wi other an,
the good neighborhood was the same a
ever. Time passed they grew middl
aged, then old ; the days when they hai
played at the flax mill were very far away
One day Mary was taken very ill-so il
that the priest was sent for. She receive,
the last rites of the church, and then sh
asked for league. He was at a distance
gone to Milford with cattle to sell-woul
not return home till late Mary watche
the door as long as her sight lasted Il
there no word of league = was her con
stant question. His name was the last up
ON her lips. A woful man was Teagu
when he found his old friend gone. II
walked beside her husband after the coffin
and saw her laid low in the church var,
mold, and then he came back to the cabins
the truest mourner she had. But wor
had to be done, though his heart was heavy
and the next evening he took his flax t
the mill.
As he logged along the limestone road i
his cart he was suddenly aware of a figure
seated beside him on the bundles of flax
How had she got there He thrilled wit
terror, and it was all he could do to loo
round and see who was his companion
An old woman Yes; and her red shaw
the gray hair the features, the blue eye.
which had never lost their brightness, a
reminded him of Mary. He looked closer
1t was Mary, certainly, and he must cor
quer his fear and speak to her for the SAX
of their lifelong friendship, Must Mar
be a restless wanderer because her old con
rade failed her No-a thousand times no
So, with tremendous effort, he conquere
his dread.
Mary, darlin', is it you p he faltered.
''It is, league, dear it is.
can what Is it, Mary, that's keepin' yo
frae your rest Sure you had the prizes
an he gave you the viaticum y
The voice he knew so well answered
accents that pierced his heart.
There's nae rest for me. flew up
the gate of heaven but l wouldna be let il
an I'm hyin' about the world in the col
an the rain, or lyin aback o. thon thor
bush. Think ON me- league, in the nigl
time when you ones is comfortable by Il
iire-side, an pity me an help me for tt
sake of we'er old friendship"
"Help you !" cried the poor man "suI
$ I'd gle my hearts blood to help you bl
D how is it to be done An why wad you II
4 be let into heaven, good livin' woman lii
you =
r I'm tell you, league replied the spe
ter; that's what I'm here to tell you, 1t
true that went about my duty regula
an knelt wi the congregation in the chap
= Sunday after Sunday, an ! was respect
a for a goodwin woman, but in all my lif
: time never prayed My lips would
movin', but my thoughts would be ava
- Wen was young girl I'd be thinkin'
. my sweetheart, or my dress, or the dam
= at the fair when l was n married wom1
u I'd be frettin' about the childer, Think
= ane o. them would fall into the fire or a
= other would be drowned in the well when
was out, an when | was old there was FIRE
an anxieties still but, anyway, in 4
r them years l never prayed, so | Gamma
= let in. -
+ Mary, Mary, poor soul What is it
!, can do for ye :"
s 'Iisten, league. Go to his riverenc
u Father Dan, an pay him to offer up tv
masses for my sinful soul but the money
i "The money, Mary It's here, touchiI
n his pocket, AYE, if it were twiste as mu'
J. its here But how will know that Il
= masses is accepted, an that yen be let in
II heaven y
!. The figure began to fade away, and Il
voice was fainter,
n "If am forgiven, the night after d
4 second mass is said for me I'll come TO y,
t. in the form of a white bird, and Ill stal
q in the window, at the foot of your bed, a
d sing you beautiful hymn before |
l. away TO heaven"
, The voice died away softly, and, just
80 / H. ,..o,LaI tla Adv mill tba Nautra Il